


The Promise of a New Year

by chasingriver



Series: Slut!lock - Adventures in Holmescest [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abstinence, Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Chastity Device, Dildos, Dom/sub, Dominance, Fingerfucking, Fucking Machines, Incest, M/M, Milking, Multi, Oral Sex, Prostate Massage, Sibling Incest, Submission, slut!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-23 10:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingriver/pseuds/chasingriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is forced to take stricter measures when Sherlock behaves like an entitled little brat. Of course, if Sherlock is able to comply with Mycroft's demands, the rewards will be worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pushing It

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to deklava for the beta!  
> Warning: sibling incest

Sherlock had been staying with Mycroft in London ever since the ‘incident’ at Harrods. True to his word, Mycroft had kept him more than occupied, sexually. But right now, at this particular moment, Sherlock was bored.

He didn’t even have any cases to occupy him; Lestrade had gone on holiday and left him with three, all of which he’d solved before they’d had Christmas dinner at the manor.

Their time at the manor had been entertaining, though. He and Mycroft had played their yearly game of ‘Let’s not let Mummy find out we’re sleeping together’ - a delightful little pastime that wasn’t as straightforward as it sounded. It did require sneaking around behind the backs of the staff, but the main element involved fucking Mycroft in increasingly more obvious places until they got caught, one of them capitulated, or their time at home ran out. This year, the highlight had been their silent coupling behind the dining room Christmas tree. During Christmas dinner.

But now they were back in London. Mycroft was busy, and the closed door to the study made it all too obvious that he didn’t want to be disturbed. Normally it wouldn’t have stopped him, but Mycroft had been on edge all afternoon and provoking him seemed like a bad idea.

He wandered into the playroom in his dressing gown and started going through the drawers of neatly arranged toys. Mycroft hadn’t fucked him since last night, and just looking at the vast array of butt plugs and dildos made his cock twitch with interest. He could use a good, hard fuck right now. And… now he was back to square one; he was bored and there was nobody to play with.

Perhaps if he was… ready. Surely Mycroft wouldn’t deny him then?

He surveyed the toys, looking for the perfect one. He didn’t want to be so aroused that he’d come instantly, so the prostate massager was definitely out. He couldn’t casually waltz into Mycroft’s study holding a dildo in place, so those were off the list. Definitely a plug, then. He could still use a dildo to stretch himself out, though. If he used his fingers the entire time, they might cramp.

He selected a medium sized dildo and a matching plug. No point in opening himself up _too_ much - he still wanted a nice, hard fuck, after all. He grabbed some lubricant and wandered over to the bed. He sank back into the plush linens and smiled. _God, Egyptian cotton is so worth it._ As he drizzled some lubricant onto his fingers, he lazily drew one leg up towards his chest and idly wondered how Mycroft would take him.

He teased himself with one finger, and then quickly added a second. The idea of sex with Mycroft never lost its capacity to arouse him. He _always_ wanted it, even when Mycroft made him beg for it on his knees. Lately though, he’d found Mycroft to be more malleable than ever. Not less dominant, mind you - just… more easily swayed.

He pushed the dildo in easily and sighed at the delicious stretch. Solo sex like this was luxurious and unhurried, but only an appetiser for the main course. He didn’t expect Mycroft to give him the entire evening, of course, but he’d come to expect a certain level of _attention._ Besides, it wasn’t like either of them was with anyone else; this was _their_ relationship. He had a right to sex when he wanted it.

He pulled out the dildo and replaced it with the flared plug. He gasped a little as the head of it - slightly wider than the other toy - breached his sphincter. As it slipped firmly into place, he almost wished he’d chosen one of the vibrating ones, but Mycroft would be fucking him soon enough.

He slipped his dark blue, silk dressing gown over his bone-china shoulders and headed for Mycroft’s study.

He debated whether he should knock. Barging in was more his style, but he suspected tonight might require more delicacy than usual.

He knocked.

“Come in.”

Mycroft occupied the large leather armchair in the corner of the room. He set a stack of papers on the small round, wooden table beside him, and he looked up at Sherlock with a weary smile. “Hello, Sherlock.”

Sherlock tried to breeze into the room with an air of casual indifference, but failed. It was probably the erection peeking through the folds of his dressing gown that gave him away. Still, it wasn’t like he was trying to be coy.

“Hello, My. How’s the work going? You look like you need a break.”

Mycroft sighed and shook his head, “I’m sorry, Sherlock, I really need to get this finished. Later, alright?”

Sherlock stepped closer, moved his dressing gown to the side, and straddled his brother’s legs. He sat down, looked at his own erect cock, and then up at his brother. “Please? I even prepared myself for you.” He grabbed Mycroft’s hand and rubbed it between the cheeks of his arse, so his brother could feel the plug.

“Hmm. Very thoughtful. But I was serious: not now. Leave that in, and we’ll play later. You need to learn some patience, and I need to finish this report.”

“You can finish it later. I’m hard now.”

A spark of anger flashed in Mycroft’s blue eyes, and Sherlock realised he’d pushed his brother a hair too far.

“You want to come, do you?” Mycroft hissed as he stood up, pushing Sherlock to his feet. “Oh, we can arrange that, I think.”

Sherlock was torn between apologising and going along with it. Mycroft seemed angry, but he’d also said he’d fuck him. Angry sex was usually pretty satisfying.

Mycroft practically dragged Sherlock to the playroom.

“Clothes off; lie on the bench.”

Sherlock laid face down on a low, padded bench that supported his chest and abdomen. He gave Mycroft a confused look as his brother started buckling his wrists and ankles to the legs of the bench.

“Wait! What are you doing? I thought you just wanted a quick fuck.”

“No, Sherlock. _You_ wanted a quick fuck. More to the point, you wanted an orgasm. I wanted to be left in peace for a few hours so I could finish my work. Since that’s clearly not going to happen, I’m going to give you your orgasm.” An undercurrent of calm menace ran through his voice.

“Wait…” Sherlock said, nervously, as Mycroft finished buckling him in. “What are you doing?”

Mycroft walked away to another part of the room where Sherlock couldn’t see him.

“I’m sorry, Mycroft, I can wait.” There was an edge of panic in his voice, now that he sensed he’d pushed Mycroft too far.

“Oh, you don’t need to wait, little brother.” Mycroft was behind him again now, fiddling with something.

Sherlock craned his neck to see, but it was no use; he couldn’t see, and he couldn’t move.

Mycroft pulled the butt plug out in one quick move, and Sherlock gasped.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be empty for long. Actually, you won’t be empty for a while,” he chuckled.

He felt something large and slick pushing at his entrance. It definitely wasn’t Mycroft. Silicone. He unconsciously clenched against it.

“Relax, Sherlock. It’s the same size I am; nothing you can’t take a good pounding from.”

He took a deep breath as Mycroft pushed the toy firmly inside him. And then the toy was being manipulated somehow… being attached to something? It was hard to tell.

For a second, everything stopped. Then, with a single click, it all started to move. The toy in his arse started vibrating but also started a slow rhythmic slide in and out of his arse _._ The movement was smooth and mechanical; it definitely wasn’t Mycroft manipulating it.

“What is it, Mycroft? Is it one of those…”

“…fucking machines?” Mycroft finished the sentence for him. “Yes, Sherlock. You’ll get your orgasm, and I’m going to sit here and watch. Actually, I’m going to sit here and work on my report. Just let me know if you need anything.”

Sherlock relaxed a little. It wasn’t what he’d had in mind, certainly, but it could be worse. The machine was aimed so the toy would rub over his prostate, and the vibrations were already starting to work their magic.

Mycroft sat down in the chair in front of him. Sherlock had to lift his head to see him, but he was, in fact, working on his report.

Sherlock was rapidly losing his battle with machine. Admittedly, he wasn’t trying very hard. Without a hand on his cock, it was taking longer than usual, but it would still get him there. He strained against his bonds, pushing back to try and meet the thrusts of the device.

“Not enough for you, Sherlock?”

“No… want you,” Sherlock gasped.

Mycroft ignored the statement. “What part of it isn’t enough? Do you want it bigger or do you want it faster?”

“Faster.”

“Very well.” Mycroft turned a knob on a small box, and the toy almost doubled its speed, thrusting in and out of Sherlock’s wet hole at a punishing rate.

“Ngghh. God, yes…”

Mycroft settled back with his report as the machine reduced Sherlock to incomprehensible moans.

The moans turned into a low-pitched keening sound, broken through with gasps as Sherlock approached orgasm. He let out a yell as he came, spurting thick wads of ejaculate onto the towel Mycroft had thoughtfully placed beneath him.

He melted into the bench, exhausted. Irritatingly, the toy still pounded his arse.

“Mycroft, I came. You can turn that off now.” Sherlock raised his head to look at his brother.

Mycroft looked over his papers and smiled. “Do you honestly think I didn’t notice, Sherlock?” he asked, sounding amused.

“Well turn it off, then.”

“When I’m good and ready, Sherlock. I don’t think one orgasm is enough for you; that machine is going to milk you dry. By the time I’m done, there will be sperm dripping from that towel underneath you. I’m sure you remember our little session after your shoplifting incident. Three orgasms, wasn’t it? Before you weren’t able spatter that pretty stomach any more?”

“What? I… I can’t. It’s too much.”

“You have a safeword. Use it if you have to. But are you honestly telling me your arse can’t take that? It’s just a toy.” His lips curled around the words with a smile, and he turned the knob down so the toy pumped into him at a slower rate. “Let me know if you need more lube, Sherlock. I’ll be right here.” With that, he went back to his paperwork.

Sherlock struggled to regain control of his body and his brain. He tried to ignore the slow, invading thrusts in his arse that were already starting to get him aroused again. His cock was only mildly interested - too soon, he supposed - but it felt good all the same. He pulled his brain back together. “So how long so you plan on running this little experiment, Mycroft?”

“Sherlock, I’m trying to concentrate.”

Sherlock lifted his head to look at his brother. “Perhaps, but you’re failing, aren’t you? You’re getting hard.”

“And you’re getting insolent.” He turned the box up a couple of notches.

Sherlock reacted to the increase in speed with a low, incomprehensible noise.

“What was that, Sherlock? I’m afraid I didn’t quite understand you. Apologising, were you?”

“Fuck… you.” He could barely think, but he knew how to provoke Mycroft.

“Oh honestly, Sherlock, you’re so childish. Such a blatant attempt to provoke me.” He stood up, towering over his brother. “You were right though, I am hard, and I have no compunction about using your mouth to help me regain my focus.” He bent down and undid one of Sherlock’s wrist cuffs. “Touch me if you need to safeword, Sherlock. Your mouth is going to be stuffed as full as your arse for a while.”

He walked back to examine the machine. “Looks like you could use some more lubricant. Ask me nicely for it before you have my cock down your throat.”

“Please, Mycroft… please use more lube. I’m still so sensitive from before.”

“Good boy. See what happens when you ask politely?”

The toy, which had been getting drier, suddenly slid in so easily that Sherlock gasped. “Oh, God. Thank you, Mycroft.”

Mycroft knelt in front of his brother and shoved down his trousers and his pants. He wasn’t just a _little_ hard. It looked like he’d been unable to concentrate for a while.

Sherlock watched as Mycroft slowly ran his hand over his thick length. He licked his lips, greedily.

“Oh, I know. Giving you the attention you’ve been begging for is the worst thing I could be doing, discipline-wise. But I have something that will take care of that later.”

Sherlock barely heard him as Mycroft grabbed his hair and pushed the thick, bulging head of his cock past his lips. It wasn’t the _worst_ position for a blow-job, but it certainly wasn’t the best one either. It wasn’t one of the positions where he could take Mycroft’s whole length without gagging. And he was kidding himself if he thought Mycroft wasn’t aware of that.

Mycroft didn’t much seem to care, because he just forced his cock deep into Sherlock’s throat and moaned as Sherlock’s gag reflex caused his throat to contract around the head of his cock. “Oh, Sherlock. That’s divine.”

He tried to repress his body’s urge to gasp for air and felt a swell of pride at Mycroft’s compliment. Even if it _was_ just for his gag reflex. Mycroft didn’t hold him there for long and pulled out far enough that he could breathe through his nose again. He took a deep breath while he could, then he busied himself with the head of Mycroft’s cock, hoping finesse with his tongue would earn him an easier time of it. It did, for a while. Mycroft leisurely fucked his face, tuning the machine’s thrusts to those of his own, orchestrating a synchronised human/machine spit roast. Then he sighed, and Sherlock got nervous.

“You know, you’re doing a lovely job with your tongue, but I really feel like I should be getting back to my paperwork. I think it’s time to fuck your throat raw, little brother.”

Sherlock nodded, as well as he could under the circumstances, and kept his hand by the bench. He had no intention of safewording. He loved it when Mycroft did this, even though it would mean tears running from his eyes and a stuffed-up nose by the time he was done. There was nothing quite like someone fucking your face so hard that they lost control. And he knew, without a doubt, that this would make his brother, his unflappable brother, lose control.

Mycroft tightened his grip on Sherlock’s hair and pushed in, hard and deep.

Sherlock braced and felt the head of his brother’s cock ramming the back of his throat. _Harder, Mycroft. I can take it._

Provocation or challenge, Mycroft accepted. He threw his weight behind it, his hips driving his cock deep down Sherlock’s tight, hot throat.

“This is what your mouth was made for, Sherlock, not for whinging… nghh… like an entitled little brat.” He held Sherlock there, knowingly cutting off his air.

Sherlock countered by swallowing. Contracting his throat muscles would feel heavenly around the sensitive head of his cock. Besides, he _liked_ to participate.

_Fuck, Sherlock, you’re intractable. Stop trying to win. You’re going to learn patience if it kills me…_

_Not from this, My._ Sherlock somehow managed to get his brother’s cock even deeper in his throat, and all he heard from Mycroft was a strangled moan.

Mycroft gave up on thinking, and just fucked Sherlock’s mouth with abandon. As his orgasm approached, he shoved himself deep once more and cut off Sherlock’s breath as he shot thick streams of viscous fluid straight down his throat.

When he finally pulled out, Sherlock was a drooling, gasping mess. His dark curls were plastered to his forehead and his face was red from exertion.

Mycroft grabbed a nearby towel and cleaned himself off, then walked out of view.

The toy still assaulted his arse with annoying and precise regularity. He felt Mycroft add more lube, and then his brother returned with a damp flannel and a bottle of water.

Mycroft held Sherlock’s chin up, relieving the pressure on his neck, and gently wiped his face clean. “Would you like some water, little brother?”

Sherlock nodded.

Mycroft lifted Sherlock’s uncuffed hand and placed the bottle in it.

_Oh, right. I forgot that was free._ He gulped the water, wincing as it hit his raw throat. “Thank you,” he rasped, and handed the empty bottle back to Mycroft.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Not really.”

The dildo still pounded him with the relentless enthusiasm of a two year old on a sugar high, and the ‘vibrating’ part of ‘vibrating dildo’ was wreaking havoc on his prostate.He supposed it felt good, but it was _too much._

“Mycroft, please. Make it stop,” he begged. “I’m sorry I was rude.”

“What else?”

“And…” he struggled to remember Mycroft’s words from earlier. “And I’m sorry I acted like an entitled little brat.”

“Very good. But unfortunately, that’s learning how to be contrite, not patient. Points for effort. I do think you’ve had enough for one evening, though.”

Mycroft shut off the device and stood up. Sherlock felt it being gently removed, but even that felt like fire as it moved over his swollen prostate.

“Hang on,” Mycroft soothed, “I’ll get you out of the cuffs.” He finished unbuckling them, and Sherlock curled against him. Mycroft enveloped him with long arms.

“You alright, Sherlock?”

He nodded, so tired he could barely move. “You win, My.”

“It’s not a contest,” Mycroft replied.

“It’s always a contest.”

After a long soak in the bath, Sherlock curled up on their bed in his dressing gown.

“Aren’t you coming to bed now?” It would be an early night for them, but he was exhausted.

“I still have work to finish, Sherlock. You interrupted me, remember? Besides, I would have thought that was more than enough orgasms for one evening, even for you.”

“You could still punish me.”

“You’re incorrigible, Sherlock. But I do have a present for you, of sorts. Not so much punishment; more like a method of discipline.”

“What is it?”

“Try and figure it out. I’ll show you tomorrow.”

Sherlock frowned as his brother kissed him. “Good night, Sherlock; pleasant dreams. Not too pleasant though, or you’ll ruin the sheets.”

As he lay there in bed, his mind ran through the possibilities. _Collar and leash. Kneeling beside Mycroft’s desk as he worked. The fucking machine, again (he really hoped not). Some sort of mental training (he wouldn’t put it past his brother). Long term bondage. Sensory deprivation (oh, that could be interesting)._ He drifted off to sleep despite himself, and woke up to the early morning light streaming through the window.


	2. Learning Patience the Soft Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds out what Mycroft has planned for him.

He rolled over and curled up against Mycroft’s back. He nuzzled the skin of his brother’s neck with his soft lips.

“Mmf. ‘M sleeping,” Mycroft murmured. Sherlock nibbled at the back of his neck, and enjoyed one of the rare occasions Mycroft lapsed into contracted English.

“You promised to give me my present,” he pestered, as his hand slid down Mycroft’s thigh and cupped his soft cock. He pushed up against him, already half-hard. “You always did love an early morning fuck, My.”

“Be good, or you’ll get your present sooner than you want,” he said, as the sleepiness left his voice. “I’m still inclined to be charitable, but that could change.”

He pushed Sherlock back against the bed and threw the heavy covers off them. “Don’t move,” he warned, and he repositioned himself between his brother’s legs.

Sherlock’s mouth fell open. It wasn’t that Mycroft _never_ sucked him off, but it was rare enough to be statistically significant. “What? Why…?”

“I suggest you enjoy it while you can, little brother.”

_Wait. What?_

But Mycroft’s mouth was already on him, and his mind stopped working. As much as it pained him to admit it, Mycroft was better at this than he was. It was an embarrassingly short period of time before he came hard down Mycroft’s throat, groaning curses and praise, as Mycroft pinned him to the bed hard enough to leave bruises.

“Now, go and shower. I think I deserve a few more minutes of rest for that.”

“Thank you, Mycroft. I mean, for doing that.”

“I thought you’d like something memorable.”

_Dear God. What does he have in mind?_ Sherlock thought to himself.

As he walked to the shower, he turned around and said, only half-jokingly, “You’re not planning on killing me, are you?”

“Don’t be foolish, Sherlock. You know I adore you, even if you can be insufferable at times. Go and have a shower.”

When he returned, clean and dry, Mycroft was sitting in bed, propped up against the headboard.

“So, everything is a contest with you, right Sherlock?”

He nodded and had the disturbing feeling he was about to lose that contest.

“How much do you trust me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I suppose I should say, since you seriously thought I might kill you, ‘How much are you _willing_ to trust me?’”

“I didn’t honestly think…”

“I know you didn’t,” he said gently. Then he continued, “You already trust me to fulfil your sexual needs. I’m asking you to let me control _when_ they’re fulfilled. You won’t have an orgasm unless I let you, and I might not let you. I might just use you as my own, personal fuck-toy.”

The no-orgasm idea, frankly, sounded horrible, but he groaned when the words ‘personal fuck-toy’ escaped Mycroft’s mouth. Moreover, the _lack of control_ element appealed to him. He found himself nodding. “For how long?”

“Three days, Sherlock. Until New Year’s Eve. Do you consent?”

He swallowed. His mouth was unaccountably dry and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “Yes, I consent.”

“Wonderful,” he said as he reached out and ran his hand along Sherlock’s thigh. “Breakfast?”

“Mycroft!” He wanted his brother to start using him as a fuck-toy _now._

“You’re so easy, Sherlock, in all the best ways,” he laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you wait; although you might want to, once you see it.”

_It. A thing._ He’d thought he’d just be ceding control.

Mycroft removed a box from the bedside table and placed it on the bed.

“Go ahead, Sherlock. Open it.”

He could see the expectation on Mycroft’s face as he removed the lid.

“Oh.” It wasn’t so much a word as a breathy sound that escaped his lungs, taking all his air with it. He sucked it back in with a deep breath. “Oh God, Mycroft.”

“It’s a chastity device.”

“I gathered.”

It was a penis-shaped plastic housing cut through with vents. It mated with a ring that would surround his balls, and the two pieces locked together. The device was the size of his flaccid cock, and it would completely prevent an erection. Or make one very uncomfortable.

Ironically, the thought of the enforced submission was turning him on, even though he’d just come.

Mycroft glanced at his groin. “I think I should put that on you sooner rather than later, wouldn’t you agree?”

Sherlock just nodded, his eyes still fixed on the device.

_Three days. Three. Days._

“Do I sleep in it?”

“It depends. I’ll see how well you tolerate it. If it doesn’t cause any issues, yes. You’ll be in it,” he started to spread his words out, “the entire time.” They fell off his tongue like drops of water.

Sherlock took the pieces out of the box and, rather symbolically, handed them to Mycroft. “I’m all yours. Now please, do it before the idea of it gets me any harder.”

“Indeed.” He swung his legs off the bed and sat in front of Sherlock, who did his best not to look too eager. He took the pieces from his brother, set them on the nightstand, and pulled out Sherlock’s collar and a bottle of lubricant.

Sherlock bent forward so Mycroft could fasten the collar around his long, elegant neck. ‘ _Property of Mycroft Holmes._ ’ _Property, indeed, for the next three days._

Mycroft poured some lubricant onto his long, delicate fingers and ran them across Sherlock’s balls and his semi-hard penis, which got harder by the second. “Try to think of something unappealing, Sherlock, or I’ll have to fetch the icepack.”

The mention of the icepack was surprisingly effective, and Mycroft hummed his approval as he tried the different-sized rings to determine which would fit best behind Sherlock’s balls. Then he manoeuvred Sherlock into the plastic penis-shaped cage and attached it with the pegs to the top of the ring. Then he took a small plastic ‘padlock’ with a stamped serial number, and locked the two together.

Mycroft, being Mycroft, spent a great deal of time ensuring the device fit properly and safely. He had Sherlock walk around the room, much as if he were trying on a new pair of shoes and testing for pressure points. _(None. Surprisingly comfortable, as much as a piece of hard plastic surrounding your cock could be considered ‘comfortable’.)_ He made him put on his tight-fitting trousers to check for its visibility beneath clothing. _(Negative.)_ He made sure Sherlock was able to urinate through and clean the device while wearing it. In short, he was the very epitome of responsibility. Once his satisfaction was complete, however, the teasing began.

“What does it feel like, Sherlock? Tell me. Out loud.”

He swallowed. His mouth had gone dry again.

“It feels like someone is tugging on my balls. The plastic is not uncomfortable, exactly, but very noticeable.”

“Put your hand on your cock. Tell me what you feel.”

The plastic barrier kept him from feeling anything except the pressure against his balls. “Nothing.”

Mycroft walked behind him and encircled his chest roughly with one arm. “Three days, Sherlock,” he whispered, “you’re all mine for three days, and you’re going to learn some patience. Then, if you’re a _very_ good boy,” he said, nipping at his earlobe, “you’ll be the main attraction at my New Year’s Eve party.”

Sherlock tried to twist around to face his brother, but Mycroft’s tight grasp prevented it. “What do you mean, ‘the main attraction’?”

“Well, you’ve been getting so bored, lately. I thought you might enjoy providing the entertainment for our guests. Especially all caged up like this—it would really allow you to focus on servicing them. You’re so good with your mouth when you concentrate.”

He felt another teasing flick at his earlobe, and then a bite. His mouth went dry with anticipation. The thought of being passed around like a party favour—shown off like a prized possession—well, if had been possible for him to get hard, he’d have been rutting against the furniture at the thought of it. As it was, he nodded between shallow breaths. 

“Then, at midnight… your three days would be up, little brother. After you’ve satisfied my guests appropriately, I’ll satisfy some of your cravings. But for the next three days, I’m going to make you earn it. You won’t be able to get yourself off, or even get hard, and my only concern will be making sure that arse of yours stays wet and loose enough to take a good pounding. You’re going to be my fuck-toy, Sherlock; a glory hole for me to fill up and use as I wish.”

Sherlock squirmed beneath his brother’s firm grasp.

“You like the idea, don’t you, you little slut?”

Sherlock’s breath caught at the word. Mycroft noticed; of course he noticed. “Yes, sir.”

“You can be such an insufferable little brat, and now it’s time to pay for your selfishness. You’re going to learn what it’s like to serve someone with no regard for your own pleasure. No more trying to top from the bottom, little brother. You’re going to submit to me completely. You might even enjoy it, but if you don’t, it’s not going to stop me. You’re always using me, Sherlock. Now I’m going to use you, like the little whore you are.”

Sherlock was already breathing hard and his whole groin throbbed, but his cock was useless, trapped in its cage. He twisted his way out of Mycroft’s grasp and practically lunged at his mouth, kissing him so hard he almost knocked him to the ground. His hand had just found Mycroft’s arse when it was wrenched upward, painfully, behind his back.

“I’m gratified at your enthusiasm, dear brother, but perhaps you missed the part where I mentioned you’d be serving me, not pleasuring yourself? You only get what I want to give you. Now, behave, or I’ll chain you to the foot of the bed.”

Sherlock reluctantly pulled away from Mycroft and tried to get comfortable, but it was difficult with his arm still wrenched behind his back.

“What do you say, Sherlock?”

“I’m sorry, Mycroft.”

His arm was immediately released.

“Thank you, Mycroft.”

“Now, I’d like some breakfast. Perhaps you’d care to make me some?”

_Perhaps you can make your own damned breakfast._

Mycroft raised his eyebrows and thought back, _Are you really sure you meant that, brother-mine?_

“What would you like for breakfast, Mycroft?”

“Oh,” he said, his voice like silk, “that’s _much_ better. Tea, toast, and scrambled eggs, please. Not too runny. But there’s something else we need to do first. Come on.” He walked down the hallway without looking back, and opened the door to the playroom.

“On your knees, Sherlock; arse in the air.”

“I thought…” Sherlock started, but Mycroft cut him off.

“You thought, did you? Well, perhaps you’re over-thinking things. You’re not on your knees yet. I said I won’t grant you release, but I didn’t say you wouldn’t enjoy it. If you continue to rebel though, I can certainly make sure you _don’t_ enjoy it.”

Sherlock dropped to his knees so quickly he almost lost his balance. He put his shoulders on the floor, presenting his arse for his brother.

“Legs wider, Sherlock. I want to see that pretty little hole of yours.”

He groaned and spread them as far apart as he could, and his chest grazed the floor.

“Much better. Look at you, spread so nicely for me. All mine for the next three days, and the first thing I’m going to do is make sure you’re nice and ready for me whenever I want to use you. If my cock isn’t in your arse, this plug will be. Maybe I’ll seal my come in there after I’m done each time. Would you like that? My own personal sperm bank.” He chuckled at his own joke. “You’re going to be so filthy by the time I’m done with you, I’ll have to give you two enemas just to clean you out.”

Sherlock heard the squelch of lubricant and waited for Mycroft’s slick fingers to start priming his hole.

“Tell me, Sherlock. How do you feel about that? Tell me in detail.”

“I’d like that; I like the idea of being used like that. I think my cock would like the idea if it wasn’t locked up like this,” he added, sarcastically.

Mycroft gave a short, cut-off laugh. “You never learn, do you, Sherlock? Always rude. Well, this time, your rudeness will cost you. Instead of opening you up with my fingers, I’m going to make you take this all at once. It’s one of the large ones, too. Don’t worry, I won’t damage you, but it’s not going to be comfortable, either.”

He felt it nudge at his entrance; the first tapered part went in easily enough, but then he felt it get thicker and he involuntarily clenched against it.

“I can’t take that Mycroft, not without preparation.”

“Oh, I think you can.”

Mycroft started to massage his hole with it, slowly tilting and pushing it, but not forcing it in.

Sherlock felt himself open up to it a little, and Mycroft slowly pushed it further inside.

“Give me a minute,” he breathed. “Please,” he added.

“Of course.” Mycroft let up on the pressure and held the plug in place as Sherlock’s body adjusted to the intrusion. “You’re doing well, Sherlock. You’ve almost taken it all. I think I’ve been entirely too easy on you in the past; you’ve got such a willing arse.”

“Alright; I’m ready.”

Mycroft wordlessly forced it in deeper, and Sherlock could feel the rim of his arse stretched and pushed in by the slick toy.

He concentrated on the oddness of it all: normally he’d be completely hard, but now his whole mind tried to reconcile the sensations in his arse with the lack of sensation in his still-soft cock.

“Sherlock?”

“Hm?” he replied, in a haze.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard.”

The intensity behind the words hit Sherlock’s brain with the force of a locomotive, and Mycroft drove the toy home with one final push.

Sherlock let out a gasp as his passage adjusted to the width of the toy.

Mycroft rubbed soothing circles at the small of his back.

“You alright?” he murmured.

Sherlock nodded. His arse was stuffed full, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t taken before.

Mycroft’s elegant hand reached down to help him to his feet.

“Shall we go?”

He stood, flexing his body to try and seat the toy in a more comfortable position. It worked, sort of. But it was still very _there._

They headed towards the kitchen, Mycroft wrapped in his dressing gown and Sherlock wrapped in nothing.

“May I have a dressing gown, My? Cooking in the nude seems dangerous.”

“And that would be different from all those other dangerous things you do… how? I think you’re just self-conscious about the device.”

“That’s not it.” But of course, that _was_ it. There was something emasculating about it that he hadn’t expected. It was one thing to cook scrambled eggs with a raging erection; it was another thing entirely to cook them with your soft cock trapped in a cage with a plug up your arse.

“This is different from ‘the body as transport’, isn’t it? This isn’t about denying _yourself_ pleasure, it’s about someone _else_ denying it. I think it makes you uncomfortable to stand there and have me watch you, knowing I have control over your body like that.”

Sherlock scowled at him.

“It doesn’t diminish my desire for you, Sherlock. If anything, seeing you submit to me like this makes me want you even more. But you were the one who claimed it always had to be a contest, and I believe I just scored a point. Go and get a dressing gown if you’d feel more comfortable wearing one.”

Sherlock didn’t know whether to go and get it, or to stay and be stubborn. Either way, Mycroft had already won this round.

“It’s _not_ a contest, Sherlock. I want you to learn patience, and I want you to submit to me completely - but because you want to, not because I’m making you. It’s not complete submission if you don’t give yourself up. Please, go and get a dressing gown. I don’t want you to resent me for this, I just want some breakfast.”

Sherlock gave in and went to the bedroom. He swirled back into the kitchen in his dark blue silk dressing gown.

“Come here.”

As Sherlock approached, Mycroft pulled him close and kissed him gently. “You’re allowed to change your mind about this. I’m doing it because you’ve been a complete brat lately, and I thought it would teach you some manners and some self-restraint. But I don’t want it to change how you feel about me. I never want that to change.” He kissed him again.

“It won’t,” he murmured softly. “Besides,” he said, brightening up, “I’m still game; I’m curious to see how my body responds.”

“So am I,” Mycroft replied with a smile. “Now, I believe you owe me some breakfast; I don’t remember the last time you cooked anything. You do _know_ how to cook scrambled eggs, don’t you?” He was only half-joking.

“Um, yes. But I’m not sure how many I should use…”

“Two each. You’re eating breakfast whether you like it or not. Two pieces of toast for me, yours is optional.”

“Where’s the… saucepan?”

“I prefer mine done in the frying pan, actually.”

“Er, where’s that?”

Mycroft shook his head. “I should teach you how to cook, but I’m sure the process would wreck my blood pressure. Still, this is a start.”

“On learning to cook, or on ruining your blood pressure?”

“Both.” He retrieved the necessary cooking implements from the cupboards and placed them on the counter. “There, everything you need. Start the kettle for the tea; I can see I’m going to need the caffeine.”

They had a decent, civilised breakfast. Sherlock, in the spirit of submission, even ate his eggs. As they finished, Sherlock cleared away the dishes and brought Mycroft a fresh cup of tea. Without being asked.

“Very good, Sherlock. Now take off your dressing gown and kneel in front of me.”

He hummed his appreciation at Sherlock’s lithe form.

“So beautiful, Sherlock. God, the obscene things I want to do to you; defile you; use you. And yet you always beg for more. Tell me: are you still willing to participate in this little experiment?”

His whole body throbbed in anticipation. Removing the element of pleasure had only intensified his interest. Without the potential for orgasm, it would only be pain and sensation and the thrill of submission. Mycroft would demand his full attention, and he would command all of Mycroft’s. It was perfect. Of course he wanted to participate.

“Yes, Mycroft,” he managed to reply, his throat dry.

“Good,” he purred, his voice like dark chocolate, “because I’d like to start now, and I have a couple experiments of my own I wish to conduct. Bedroom.”


	3. Abstinence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living with the chastity device.

Sherlock strode down the hallway with Mycroft following.

“Lovely view, Sherlock. I do love how that plug pokes out from between your arse cheeks.” He stopped for a second, then added, “Although, I suppose it’s _my_ arse to do with as I please for the next few days. How does that plug feel when you walk?”

“Like someone is constantly fucking my arse. Not that I’m complaining,” he added, hurriedly.

As they entered the bedroom, Sherlock stood in place while Mycroft surveyed the room thoughtfully.  Mycroft walked over to the bed.

“Right. On your back with your arse at the edge of the bed. I want to see that lovely caged cock while I pound you.”

Sherlock hurried to comply, and gasped a bit as the plug shifted with the sudden movement. Once he was on the bed, Mycroft shoved a thick pillow beneath his hips.

“I’ll make sure it’s a good angle for you, Sherlock; it should be delightfully intense. If I stimulate your prostate, I should be able to milk the semen right out of you without giving you an orgasm. Traditionally the process is done manually, but I think I should be able to get the same effect by fucking you into the mattress until I come, don’t you think? Just imagine it, semen dribbling helplessly out of your soft cock, all over your balls. It’s a shame to waste it really. Perhaps next time, I’ll fuck you from behind so we can save it and have you lap it up when I’m done.”

Sherlock was so turned on that he ached to be filled, even though it wouldn’t provide him any release. His chest and neck were flushed with arousal and his breathing was fast, but his cock, although slightly swollen, was still maddeningly soft.

Mycroft grasped his soft cock in its plastic cage. “You don’t look happy to see me,” he said, smiling.

“I assure you,” he hissed, “nothing could be further from the truth. Please, fuck me already.”

“Ah, see? You think it’s all about you again. But this time, it won’t be. I don’t have to take your pleasure into account at all. Remember what I told you? You’re going to be my own personal glory hole. It’s all about what _I_ feel like doing. _You_ are going to lie there and take whatever I give you, and learn to enjoy putting others’ desires before your own. And if I hear the words ‘fuck me, already’ come out of your mouth again, it will be filled with either my cock or a ball gag every hour you’re awake for the next three days. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Three days was going to be forever. Three _minutes_ of Mycroft talking like this was going to kill him if he couldn’t get himself off.

“Good. Now let’s get that out so I can fill you up myself. Hold your legs to your chest.”

Sherlock gasped as Mycroft yanked the plug from his arse.

“Oh, look at you, so gaping and ready for me.” He gave his cock a quick coating of lube and positioned it at Sherlock’s still-open hole. “I’ll have to keep you plugged more often.” He sighed with bliss as he slowly pushed his way in to the hilt.

“I can take it harder than that,” Sherlock said petulantly.

“You’ll take it however I want to give it to you.” He started pumping in and out of him in long, smooth slides. “I like having you at my disposal like this; you’re always in such a hurry for release, and now I can take as long as I want.”

Mycroft casually played with Sherlock’s trapped cock and balls as he leisurely fucked him. “Look at you, so helpless and soft. So vulnerable. It would be easier for you if I tied you up and _made_ you take this, wouldn’t it? That way your brain could tell you that you were fighting it. But you’re not, are you?”

“No,” he said weakly.

“No. Because even now, with no chance of getting off, you’re just a little slut, aren’t you?” He punctuated the question with a hard, vicious thrust.

“Yes,” Sherlock groaned, “yes. Please…” he almost begged for more, but he stopped himself just in time. Just the thought of a ball gag jammed between his teeth for three days made his jaw ache.

Mycroft smiled. “I see you’re learning at least.”

Six more thrusts, hard and fast, and Sherlock bit his lip. He had to focus his attention somewhere other than his prostate.

“No biting, Sherlock; I want your mouth in pristine condition. It’s going to get a lot of use over the next three days. How does it feel? Too much for you, already?”

He struggled to describe the odd sensation. “Without my cock, it’s… it’s stimulation without building to anything. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s intense. I think…” he shuddered and lost his words as Mycroft pounded him brutally for a few long seconds. “I think manual prostate milking is supposed to be a lot gentler than this.” His fingers, which still gripped his long legs to his chest, were white with tension.

“And you obviously think I care. I’m interested in it as a side effect, nothing more. I suppose to conduct a more rigorous experiment, I should put you back on the fucking machine.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened in terror. “Please, no.”

Mycroft laughed and said, “I thought not.” He eyed Sherlock’s dick. “Still nothing; clearly I’m not fucking you hard enough.” He braced himself more solidly against Sherlock’s body and started fucking him so roughly that he had to pull Sherlock back to the edge of the bed more than once. Each brutal thrust drew a strangled moan from Sherlock’s throat.

“Oh, Christ,” Sherlock gasped as he felt an entirely new, entirely foreign sensation. It felt remotely like coming, but with none of the muscle contractions or sense of relief that orgasm offered.

Mycroft, who had appeared to be entirely lost in sensations of his own, glanced at him with interest. He stilled his violent thrusting as he took Sherlock’s limp cock in hand. Milky fluid flowed slowly from the tip and onto Mycroft’s fingers. “Perfect.” He smiled and shoved his fingers in Sherlock’s mouth. “Clean them.”

As soon as Mycroft’s fingers were gone, he started, “It was interesting, My…”

Mycroft cut him off. “Tell me later. Turn over: hands and knees. Now that I’m done with my experiment, it’s time for a proper pounding. This time, the end result is my orgasm, not your… lack of one.” He climbed onto the bed and positioned himself at his brother’s entrance before he grabbed Sherlock’s hair, pulled back on it roughly, and shoved his cock home.

They both groaned; Sherlock loved the fullness and sweet violation of it. As frustrating as it was, knowing he wouldn’t get off in the traditional sense, he still took pleasure in this. They both needed each other, not just sexually, but emotionally. Taking away the normal goal of orgasm seemed to take him to a philosophical realm even as his brother entered a more purely physical one. It was an interesting role reversal. Sherlock adjusted his angle to see what effect it would have. Once again, it wasn’t long before he (or perhaps Mycroft) was rewarded with another non-orgasmic gush of seminal fluid.

Mycroft was too involved to notice this time, and he’d started to lose his composure: a thin sheen of sweat covered his face and the ginger curls on his chest.

Mycroft’s grip on his thighs tightened almost to the point of pain when he came, silently and deep inside him.

His brother pushed him down onto the bed, reluctant to pull out or move in any significant way. “Excellent as always, dear brother. Your arse is incomparable.” He pushed Sherlock’s hair to the side and licked the sweat from the back of his neck, gently nuzzling it. Sherlock’s salty tang and the scent of his warm leather collar blurred his senses.

They both laid there until Sherlock started to shift underneath him. “My leg’s falling asleep.”

“Mm,” Mycroft said, “I think _I’m_ falling asleep.”

Sherlock rolled out from beneath him and Mycroft pulled him close.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Mycroft said as he reached over to the towel on the side table and retrieved the plug. “I promised to keep you nice and ready for me, remember?”

Sherlock raised one eyebrow, his insides still thrumming from their recent pounding. “How many times do you plan on having me today?”

“As many as I’d like. In fact, I plan on conducting my own experiment in precisely that area. It’s a useful thing to know when one has a wanton slut for a brother.” He slicked the toy back up. “On your stomach.”

Sherlock moaned as the cold, hard toy - not nearly as pleasant as Mycroft’s thick cock - was pressed slowly, and rather gently, into his throbbing passage.

Mycroft wiped his hands off on the towel and pulled him back onto his side. He kissed him lazily and said, “Alright, now you can tell me what it felt like.” He smiled and rubbed his hand over Sherlock’s encased penis. “You did very well.”

“It was intense. It even felt… good. In a remote sort of way. It was almost like orgasm, but without the release aspect of it. I could feel the rush of the fluid, but none of the muscular contractions.”

“You make it sound so clinical, Sherlock,” Mycroft chided.

“Well, oddly, it did make me more… I’m not sure, detached? More of an observer than a participant.”

“Hm. I don’t want you getting too detached. Perhaps I’ll have to remedy that with a little pain next time - keep your mind here.”

They dozed on the bed for a while, Mycroft’s arm draped protectively over his brother’s shoulder.

Sherlock awoke when Mycroft shifted on the bed.

“I’m just going for a shower, love. You can stay here and doze,” Mycroft said as he kissed Sherlock’s cheek and swung his legs over the side of the mahogany bed frame.

He responded with an “Mmff,” but his mind had already engaged, and he rolled onto his back. “May I join you?”

Mycroft stopped mid-step on the way to the bathroom. “Of course. Here, let me take off your collar.” He ran the warm leather through his fingers after removing it from Sherlock’s neck. “Perhaps one day I should get you a metal one you can wear in the shower,” he mused. “You’d never have to take it off. I wonder what your friends down at the Met would think of that?”

Sherlock snorted with derision. “They don’t have the imagination to even grasp the concept.”

“Hm. Possibly not. Besides, if I kept you collared all the time, you’d never be able to take off that scarf of yours. I suppose that would look a little eccentric, even for you,” he said, once again lightly fingering Sherlock’s plastic cage. “That’s why I like this so much. No one else will know, except the two of us. You’ll be sitting there in a meeting with Lestrade,” he said, his mouth nipping at Sherlock’s ear now as he whispered the words, “and you’ll shift in your seat, and you’ll feel it. Enclosing you. And you’ll remember that you belong to me. That your pleasure belongs to me. And the thought of it will make the room a little too warm and uncomfortable, and Lestrade will want to know what’s wrong. What will you tell him, Sherlock?” Another bite on his ear, harder this time. “Hm?”

Sherlock groped for the right answer; there was always a right answer. “Whatever you told me to tell him.”

“Mm. Very good Sherlock.” He dragged his teeth along Sherlock’s long expanse of neck - not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough to make him moan.

“I… I thought,” he stuttered as Mycroft’s actions derailed his thoughts again, “I thought it was only for three days.”

“That’s my decision, don’t you think? Perhaps I’ll enjoy having you subdued too much to take it off. I’ll still have your mouth and your arse at my disposal; _I’ll_ be able to find release any time I need it.” he said with a lascivious look at the plug in Sherlock’s arse. He pried Sherlock’s arse cheeks apart. “Oh, so filthy, little brother. My semen is leaking out of your wet little hole. Perhaps we need a wider plug,” he said, as he pushed it firmly against his arse. He ran his finger around the outside, gathering traces of the fluid. “Perhaps you’d like a taste?”

Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat, and he practically lunged for Mycroft’s finger in his enthusiasm. He sucked on it, desperate to taste his brother.

“So eager, Sherlock? Perhaps you think enthusiasm will change my mind? I meant what I said: no release for you until New Year’s Eve. I have changed my mind about the shower though - draw me a bath; my work can wait a little longer.”

Sherlock brought Mycroft a dressing gown and proceeded to fill the huge copper tub with steaming water.

His brother watched him with a slight smirk as he bent over the edge of the tub, testing the water with his hand. “That plug suits you. I should keep you like this more often.”

Sherlock turned around and scowled, then caught himself as Mycroft raised a single eyebrow in challenge.

“Sorry, My.”

Mycroft shed the dressing gown like a cocoon and slid into the hot water. The tall hammered-copper back of the tub supported him comfortably as he lounged in the hot water that came up to his chest. “Get a flannel, Sherlock, and kneel here beside me.”

He did as Mycroft asked, and he made sure not to complain even when the hard tile floor bit into his knees.

The heat of the water imparted a rosy blush to Mycroft’s creamy freckled skin. At his brother’s request, he lathered up the flannel and bathed him. Normally, the sensual act - running his hands across his brother’s body like this - would have gotten him hard and desperate. Somehow though, the cage seemed to raise his tolerance. He was still aroused as his hand slid down Mycroft’s chest, but it was more of a slow burn.

Mycroft smiled and then slid beneath the water briefly. When he emerged, he said, “Wash my hair, brother.”

Sherlock took a small amount of shampoo and rubbed it into Mycroft’s ginger hair. It was nice to see it wet and untamed like this - the state of his hair was as much of a contrast from Mycroft’s normal presence as the rest of him. Seeing Mycroft so relaxed and open like this - he would have called the pose ‘vulnerable’ in anyone else - made him oddly happy. He massaged the shampoo gently into his scalp, careful not to let any run into his brother’s eyes. When he’d finished, Mycroft ducked underneath the water again, ran his fingers through his hair to remove the soap, and resurfaced with a smile.

“Thank you, Sherlock.” He took a warm, wet finger and ran it down Sherlock’s chest. “Join me.”

Sherlock stepped carefully into the tub, and Mycroft motioned for him to straddle his lap and face him. He felt Mycroft’s half-hard cock pressing along his perineum. It was tempting to rub against him, even though it wouldn’t do him any good, but he restrained himself.

_You’re learning, little brother_ , he heard Mycroft think as he felt his brother’s hands cup his arse. _I must admit, I didn’t think the device would make you this pliant. I’m almost disappointed that you don’t fight it._

_Oh, if you want that…_ Sherlock’s mind shot back, and they both smiled.

“Don’t move.” Mycroft played with the plug in his arse, twisting it and moving it against his prostate. Sherlock moaned but managed to hold still. He ran his hands down Sherlock’s chest. “Look at you, so gorgeous.” With one hand, he pinched Sherlock’s left nipple, hard. “I’m going to claim you. Mark you as my own.”

Sherlock sucked in a breath. _How?_

“I’m going to pierce your lovely skin and give you a permanent reminder of your submission.”

“Yes.” He would have agreed to anything, probably. This was Mycroft, after all. “Where?”

Mycroft’s hand left his nipple and snaked between their bodies, finding the sensitive spot behind his balls. He pinched it gently. “Here.”

“Oh _fuck_. Yes. Please.” he breathed. If his cock hadn’t been caged, he would have been instantly hard.

“You like the idea, then?” Mycroft replied, smiling.

Sherlock nodded, a little too enthusiastically. He couldn’t feign bored indifference; the idea literally made his knees weak.

“Good. I’ll have it done at the party; I know how you adore an audience. Even when I share you out, there will be no doubt as to your ownership.” He pulled Sherlock forward and kissed him, gripping the plug and giving it another twist as he did so.

Sherlock groaned into Mycroft’s mouth. “Please, don’t,” he begged and tried to squirm away from Mycroft’s teasing with the plug.

“Why not?”

“Because… it’ll turn me on.”

“What if that’s what I want?”

“It’s not fair! You know I can’t come,” he wailed. “It’s one thing just to use me - it’s another to get me all worked up first. You can’t do that to me.”

“Oh, I can, and I will,” Mycroft smiled and gave the plug another twist. “And if you don’t stop complaining, you _will_ regret it. Now get out and get me a towel.”

As he climbed out, the plug pushed against his overstimulated nerves; each step towards the towels made him painfully aware of its presence. Three days was going to be hell if Mycroft kept this up, but it would be worth it - worth it to get out of the device and to have Mycroft pierce him.

He returned with a towel and the most neutral expression he could manage.

“Uncomfortable, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked, innocently.

_Bastard_ , Sherlock thought, even though he knew Mycroft would hear him. _Because_ he would.

“Nice try,” Mycroft replied.

“What?”

“Trying to provoke me like that. Begging for punishment. You think you’ll enjoy anything I have to give, don’t you?”

Sherlock shrugged. Even the fucking machine had been fun.

“I’ll be curious to hear your opinion once I’ve finished with you,” Mycroft said breezily as he stepped from the tub. “But I have better things to do at the moment.” He refastened the collar around Sherlock’s neck. “Kneel.”

He left the room. When he returned, about five minutes later, he was dressed and carrying a leash. It was almost amusing to see him in something other than a three-piece suit. True, he was wearing a crisp button-up shirt and fine wool trousers, but seeing him without a tie or waistcoat surprised Sherlock as much as if he’d walked into the room wearing a Speedo. His eyes widened, despite his desire to hide mask his reaction.

“I _do_ own other clothes, you know.”

Sherlock kept silent.

“Good boy. I shall expect silence unless I address you.” He clipped the leash to Sherlock’s collar. “Heel.”

Sherlock rose to follow him, and Mycroft grabbed his penis and balls, locked into the chastity device, and gave them a sharp tug. “Did I say you could stand? Crawl beside me, on all fours.”

The humiliation stung. And he loved it. He dropped to his knees again and followed Mycroft as quickly as he could. Mycroft kept a brisk pace, and Sherlock struggled to match it. The collar tugged at his neck.

“Are you incapable of following even the simplest request?”

“Apparently,” Sherlock responded in a sarcastic tone.

Mycroft slapped him on the arse. Once. Hard. “Do better, or I shall lock you in the playroom by yourself all afternoon.”

He’d rather bask in the glow of Mycroft’s attention than be left alone, no matter how many toys there might be. Besides, he wouldn’t be getting off for the next three days anyway. Mycroft controlled his only opportunities for pleasure now. He hurried along behind Mycroft, who struck an even more commanding presence from this angle. His brother always managed to go slightly faster and the collar pulled, rather deliciously, at the tender skin of his neck.

Sherlock gave a disappointed sigh as they entered Mycroft’s study. The massive pile of paperwork didn’t bode well for his prospects as a human fuck-toy in the immediate future.

“Silence encompasses not only words, dear brother. Clearly I must reinforce my instructions.” He led Sherlock to the spot beside his massive mahogany desk. “Stay in that position.”

Sherlock stayed on all fours, his cock and balls dangling uselessly beneath him in the hard plastic casing. _At least I have the plug,_ he thought, as he clenched and unclenched the muscles of his arse around it. When Mycroft returned, he fought the urge to turn his head and look. _What did he get?_

He felt Mycroft’s hand on his lower back, and then his brother pulled the plug from his arse in one swift move.

Sherlock gasped at the sudden loss, and his arsehole twitched and gaped. He felt something else shoved between his cheeks. _Smaller? Rounder, definitely._ He felt Mycroft rotate it once and then remove it. And then Mycroft shoved the large plug back into his arse. As stretched as he was, the act still required force, and Sherlock relished the slight burn. He just started to wonder what it had all been about when Mycroft walked in front of him.

“Look at me, Sherlock.”

Mycroft held a pacifier-style gag that glistened with a mixture of lube and semen. From his own arse. _Dear God. It’s like sucking him off after he’s fucked me._ He gave Mycroft a filthy grin.

“Since you seem unable to control yourself, I thought I’d provide some assistance.” He pushed the gag between Sherlock’s lips and fastened the leather strap tightly behind his head.

The taste of lube, Mycroft’s semen, and his own arse mingled with his saliva. He supposed he should be repelled, but he wasn’t. Not even remotely. He was completely getting off on it.

“You love it, don’t you, you little slut? I knew you would. But at least it will keep you quiet while I work.”

Mycroft wiped his hands on a towel and sat behind his desk. “Kneel, and hold that position until I tell you to move.”

His brother, apparently, had let his paperwork lapse significantly. Sherlock sat on his heels, and waited. The gag made it hard to swallow, and saliva dribbled from his lower lip.

“Do make an effort, Sherlock. Do I have to put a towel beneath you?”

He tried to swallow his spit but succeeded only in making an odd gurgling sound. He nodded.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed. “Very well. Stand.”

Sherlock winced as the blood rushed back to his stiff limbs.

Mycroft placed the towel he’d used earlier on the floor and motioned towards it. “I’m going to be a while. You have my permission to change your kneeling stance once every quarter hour.” With that, he sat down and went back to his work.

Sherlock watched as the longcase clock in the corner marked off the time. At each sounding of the Westminster chime, he’d shift enough to get the blood flowing properly through his limbs. The pins and needles gave him something else to think about - something other than the mind-numbing boredom. He’d wanted Mycroft’s attention, not his complete lack of it.

Two hours passed. Exactly. Sherlock’s jaw ached from the gag and his brain had lapsed into unfocused meanderings.

“I think you’ve earned a change from that position, Sherlock. You’re starting to sway.”

He jerked his head up and looked at Mycroft, surprised at the sudden attention.

“I need some tea, anyway. Go and make some and bring it back here on a tray, along with some biscuits. Leave the gag in, and don’t you dare try and clean yourself up. Do stop and look in the mirror though; I want you to see what you look like at the moment, with your lips stretched around that gag and the saliva dribbling down your chin.”

As he walked to the kitchen, he stepped into the bathroom and examined his reflection. His face was a caricature of surprise, with his lips pulled into a huge, obscene circle around the red silicone gag. Trails of saliva leaked from his lips and covered his chin. The leather straps cut across his cheekbones tightly enough to leave indentations. _Possibly bruises_. He reflexively tried to smile at the thought of blue-black marks across his delicate features, but the gag prevented it. Bruises would prove that he’d suffered through this. They’d show that Mycroft had been reduced to marking him in order to gain his compliance. They’d let him come out of this experience with his dignity intact. His brother may have turned him into a drooling mess, but Mycroft hadn’t won yet. He resisted the urge to wipe his face clean on a towel and headed for the kitchen.

The plug slid across his prostate with every step. The deep, throbbing _itch_ of it was driving him insane. As he waited for the kettle to boil, he lined the plug up with one of the cabinet knobs and ground himself against it. _God, yes. That’s better._ It wasn’t though. After a few seconds of initial relief, it just made him more desperate. He did it again, more forcefully this time, almost fucking himself against the cabinet.

He nearly fell over when Mycroft cleared his throat.


	4. A Real Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft makes Sherlock pay for his little "indiscretion" with the cabinet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic isn't dead! There are more parts of it already written, but I have to fill in some things in the middle before I can publish them. Thank you for your (extreme) patience!

“I asked you to bring me some tea, not pleasure yourself against the cabinetry. Surely that was implicit.”

Sherlock flushed a bright red and slowly turned to face his brother. Mycroft had a fine point. Even if he’d not been gagged, he wasn’t sure what he could have said in his defence.

“I thought I could trust you to do a simple task beyond my direct observation, but clearly I was wrong. Were you enjoying that?”

The tinge of menace in Mycroft’s voice stirred the arousal in his gut; whatever his brother had in mind as a punishment was bound to be worth it.

“Finish making the tea and wait here for me to return. Frot against the cabinet as much as you’d like; I won’t begrudge you a little pleasure before what I have planned for you. Just have the decency to clean it afterwards.”

Sherlock nodded his silent, gagged agreement.

He wasn’t too proud to steal those few, solitary moments to rub against the protruding handle and scratch that deep, throbbing _itch_ as the toy pushed across his prostate. The physical and sensual restrictions of the cock cage were maddening; he’d take whatever form of stimulation he could get.

When Mycroft returned a few minutes later, he carried a heavy leather blindfold and wrist cuffs. He removed the gag from Sherlock’s mouth and handed it to him. “Clean this, and you may wash your face now.”

He gratefully wiped a damp paper towel across his spit-covered chin. “Thank you.”

“How long it remains out depends on how well you do with your punishment. I don’t want to be distracted as I work.”

No more kneeling at Mycroft’s feet then. That was a relief; the boredom had nearly killed him.

His brother examined the contents of the tea tray and deemed it acceptable, and started buckling the cuffs onto Sherlock’s wrists. He clipped them together behind his back, and then the blindfold obscured everything from view.

“Bend over.”

Mycroft pulled the plug out in one swift move, and his gaping hole tried to clench around the sudden nothingness.

His brother laughed. “You already want it back, don’t you?”

Sherlock nodded reluctantly. The irony in Mycroft’s laugh made him nervous. He obviously had something new planned for his arse, but he knew his brother’s extensive collection of toys by heart, and none of them fell into the realm of ‘punishment’. ‘Intense’ perhaps, but nothing he couldn’t handle.

He placed the gag in one of his cuffed hands. “Bring this. I think we’re going to need it.” Then he led him to the study.

Sherlock heard the gentle clink of metal as Mycroft set the tea tray on his desk.

“Spread your legs: shoulder width.”

A spreader bar, then. He obeyed, mentally running through the positions that involved his ankles forced apart and arms cuffed behind his back. Bent over his desk. Sitting. On his back was possible, but Mycroft rarely did anything that cut off his circulation. His thoughts were interrupted as Mycroft fastened thick cuffs and a short spreader bar to his ankles.

“Turn around.”

He shuffled awkwardly to face the other direction.

“Normally I enjoy the element of surprise, but this time you deserve to see your tormentor ahead of time.”

Tormentor? Surely, he hadn’t brought someone else in to play with them. And if he had, it certainly wouldn’t be punishment—well, except for the obvious fact that he’d be unable to get off. He didn’t sense anyone else in the room; he would have heard something by now.

Mycroft removed the blindfold.

In front of him was the largest toy he’d ever seen. The head of it was a little smaller than the toy he’d just had, but it quickly widened to almost impossible proportions. And it kept getting wider. It had to be almost five inches across at the base. Mycroft had strapped it firmly to a wooden chair.

“Fuck, My, that thing’s huge! I’ll never get it inside of me.”

“No, you won’t.”

The penny dropped.

“Oh God. With my ankles spread, my arse won’t reach the seat, and… oh.” His arse started to throb just thinking about it. Gravity would stretch him open for as long as he could stand it, and there would be no relief. With his arms cuffed behind him, he would be off-balance and unable to brace himself.

“Consider this an endurance test.”

The toy had already been thickly greased—not with their usual lube, but the industrial-strength type he’d seen in fisting videos online. A tub of it sat on the nearby table.

“Bend over and rest your head on the chair. I’ve got your arms.” Mycroft smeared huge gobs of the thick grease across his still-loose hole, pushing the substance inside him with his fingers. Sherlock took the opportunity to relax and enjoy it. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what came next.

“Where did you even get this? I’ve never seen anything like it,” he asked, still somewhat in awe.

“Do you like it? I found a new supplier. Believe it or not, this isn’t the largest one they stock. Do you think this is adequate punishment for defiling the kitchen?”

He mumbled something noncommittal. He was secretly impressed by Mycroft’s ingenious plan, but he didn’t want to make his admiration too obvious. Mycroft took the gag from his hand.

“I don’t think we’ll be using this. I’m interested in hearing your running commentary, and I want to make sure I don’t damage you.” He helped Sherlock back to his feet. “Besides, we need that pretty hole of yours in good shape for the party.”

The party. He’d almost forgotten about the party.

Mycroft must have heard his thoughts, because he replied, “If I were you, I’d focus on the task at hand. The longer you endure this, the less time you’ll spend kneeling at my desk, bored out of your skull. If you do well enough, I might even fuck you afterwards. You’ll be so stretched open, you’ll probably be able to take half my hand at the same time as my cock. Now, turn around.”

Mycroft steadied him and took most of his weight as Sherlock lowered himself over the toy. The lube had spread everywhere, and it wasn’t until the third try that they managed to get the head of it properly inside his arse instead of sliding between his cheeks. It nudged his hole open and slipped easily inside, but his long legs and the position of the toy allowed him to resist further invasion even with his legs spread apart. He flashed Mycroft a triumphant smile.

“Yes, Sherlock. Very impressive. Let’s see how long your abdominal muscles hold up, shall we?”

With a sickening feeling, he realised that Mycroft was right. His legs and his stomach weren’t going to be able to sustain this for very long, and then he’d be impaled on this monstrosity with no chance of relief. Was it better to give in by degrees and stretch himself slowly? That way, perhaps he’d have the muscle strength to buy himself some relief as it went deeper. If he resisted the intrusion and spent all his energy now, he’d have no choice but to sink painfully onto it with no reprieve in sight.

“This is diabolical, Mycroft.”

“It is, isn’t it?” He smiled indulgently at Sherlock. “Come now, I’m sure you can take more than that; you’re not even trying. Or are you planning to wait until your legs give out and let it impale you all at once?”

The look he flashed Mycroft was pure tenacity. “You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?”

“Oh, I fully intend to.” His brother sat in his comfortable office chair while Sherlock tried desperately _not_ to sit on his. He would have loved to take the whole thing in his arse—to prove Mycroft wrong—but there was just _no way_ it would fit. It wasn’t uncomfortable yet; in fact, it was stretching him and filling his arse in a way he quite enjoyed, but the tapered shaft would soon be pushing his boundaries.

He decided to pursue the slow method. Letting it impale him all at once would almost certainly require him to call safeword, and while he knew Mycroft wouldn’t hold it against him, his personal pride demanded he hold out for as long as possible.

Mycroft watched with an intense look as Sherlock lowered himself as much as he could without causing discomfort. He wasn’t going to push himself yet; he’d adjust to this, and then take more. He tried to roll his spine to change the angle of entry, but it didn’t help much. The natural bend in the colon only straightened when his knees were closer to his chest; the toy would have to negotiate that curve with brute force. Nothing about this was going to be easy.

“You could have chosen a better position for this.”

“Gravity only works in one direction. Besides, I didn’t select this punishment with your comfort in mind. That’s why it’s called punishment.”

Sherlock glared at him. _I can take this, Mycroft,_ his brain lashed out, not quite under his control.

_I don’t doubt you’ll try._

The muscles in his legs started to burn. He couldn’t put it off any longer, and he’d already adjusted to the current thickness, so he really had no excuse. He lowered himself gingerly onto the toy and felt his hole stretch to take it. It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected; the lube was literally greasing the way and there was no pain. Not even any discomfort. His legs burned more than his arse—he was still subconsciously warring with gravity. He wished he had his hands to steady himself, but they were useless behind his back.

His thighs actively started to rebel; their trembling, a literal sign of his weakness.

Mycroft’s eyes gleamed. “Time to see what you can take, little brother. I don’t think you can hold out much longer.”

He’d never pushed his limits quite like this; there had always been a specific goal. In this case, the logical goal of sitting on the chair with the entire monstrosity up his arse wasn’t an option. He wanted to scream that the test wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t Mycroft give him a test he could actually _complete?_

With a determined sigh, he mentally prepared himself for the pain and relaxed his muscles.

The searing burn he expected… didn’t come.

It stretched him wider, and it was definitely uncomfortable, but it didn’t really _hurt._

He closed his eyes and tried hard to concentrate on relaxing his sphincter; his instinct was to fight the toy and clench against it, but that would only make things more difficult.

He succeeded, and then gasped as gravity pulled him another half inch down the toy.

The psychological implications of being trapped in place by this _thing_ were almost as intense as the stretch of his hole. Mycroft owned his pleasure with the cage around his cock, and now he was pushing him to new limits with his arse. What was next? Another gag? A hood to restrict his senses?

He screwed his eyes shut in concentration. Relax. He had to relax. Sweat broke out across his forehead as he struggled to convince his brain that this was _possible._ Okay, he’d never be able to take it all, but if he took _enough,_ perhaps Mycroft would see. See how much he’d tried, and how much he wanted to please him. His earlier frustration with the nature of the punishment had been replaced with a tenacious desire to make his brother proud of his efforts.

As he slowly sank further onto the toy, the uncomfortable stretch turned into an intense ache. It wasn’t the searing pain of tissue damage; it was the all-encompassing ache of a body being pushed towards its breaking point. An unbidden thought ran through his head. _This must be what it’s like to get fisted for the first time_. He wished Mycroft was doing this and not some toy. It would be easier to bear.

In his concentration, he hadn’t heard Mycroft get up from his chair.

“Sherlock.” The voice was a whisper.

He opened his eyes and realised he’d been chewing on his lower lip. How long had that been going on? His mind had lost control of his body. It had short-circuited around his brain in its effort to cope. He stared at Mycroft, willing his mind to re-engage.

“Sherlock.” Mycroft’s eyes bored into him, and strong arms grasped his waist, lifting him off the toy slightly, relieving the pain.

“No! I can do this!” he cried, even as his body disagreed and gratefully relaxed into his brother’s grip. “I can do it, My. I can,” he said plaintively as his brother lifted him from the chair and lowered him gently onto the floor.

“You did,” he soothed, as he undid Sherlock’s restraints.

The sudden lack of sensation, of focus, left him reeling—emotionally cast adrift as well as physically. The world was too large, and he was too small.

He felt warm arms encircle him and he buried his head against Mycroft’s chest, grateful for the anchor.

He awoke, a short time later, in their bed. He had hazy memories of Mycroft guiding him down the hallway, but now his brother curled around his back, warm and comforting. His arse ached.

Mycroft pressed a kiss to his neck. “You’re back.”

“Mm.” He took mental inventory and then pushed back against him, craving the closeness. His brother wrapped an arm around him protectively and pulled him tighter.

“I should have known you wouldn’t give in, and I shouldn’t have let you get that far before I stopped you.”

“I didn’t hurt myself.”

“That’s not what I meant. Mentally. I shouldn’t have dragged you out of that state so quickly, but I was afraid you would injure yourself with the toy.”

“Oh.” He remembered the confusion and the panic, and then the sudden gratitude that Mycroft was there, after all. “The abrupt cessation of subspace.”

“Mm,” Mycroft replied and nuzzled his shoulder. “I’m truly sorry.”

“It’s all right. An interesting data point. Not something I’d care to experience again, given a choice.”

“I imagine not.” He kissed the back of Sherlock’s head. “Do you want anything to eat?” There was a roast beef sandwich and some crisps on the table next to the bed. “I don’t normally condone eating in bed, but you’ve more than earned it.” He handed him a bottle of water. “Here, at least have some of this.”

“Actually, I’m starved,” he said, and reached over for the tray.

Mycroft watched him fondly as he ate, occasionally brushing a stray curl from his forehead. Once he was done eating, he happily let Mycroft curl around him, and he relaxed against his chest. His brother’s rhythmic breathing quickly carried him back into the realm of sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're looking for me on tumblr, I'm at [chasingriversong](http://chasingriversong.tumblr.com)!


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